


Invitation to Chaos

by Epiphanyx7



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Norse Mythology, The Avengers (2012), The Avengers - All Fandoms, Thor (2011)
Genre: Crack, Gen, Go Ahead and Judge Me, Humor, I Don't Even Know, The Author Regrets Nothing, Villain Loki, unlikely friendship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-17
Updated: 2012-07-24
Packaged: 2017-11-10 03:35:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/461780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Epiphanyx7/pseuds/Epiphanyx7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Norse Gods are like fairies,” he told Director Fury, whose eye twitched in a rather threatening manner. “You can’t not invite them to the ball, it makes them really angry. Hence why I have invited Loki to my Annual New Year’s Bash.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ... This is pure, undiluted, unrepentant crack. I am NOT SORRY.
> 
> All invitation wording courtesy of the people at [invitation consultants](http://www.invitationconsultants.com/sw-main.aspx), who provided sample invitations for me to cut/paste/mishmash into the ones seen in the fic.

While some people had, upon discovering that the Norse Gods of old were in fact real super-powered alien beings, merely moved on -- others, more intelligent others specifically, had done some research.

Tony Stark was not one of those others, although he did have several of those esteemed ‘others’ on Stark Industries’ payroll (such as one Pepper Potts, who continued to defy logic and was listed as a priceless and irreplaceable item on all of his insurance forms), which was why he knew some things that would perhaps keep him out of trouble.

“Norse Gods are like fairies,” he told Director Fury, whose eye twitched in a rather threatening manner. “You can’t not invite them to the ball, it makes them really angry. Hence why I have invited Loki to my Annual New Year’s Bash.”

“You are playing with fire, here,” Fury said -- growled -- well, to be honest, he snarled. Like a rabid animal. Sometimes, Tony wondered if Nick Fury was really human, or if he was actually some sort of large wolfish creature who had accidentally learned to turn into a man. Or maybe that was just Fury’s natural charm coming through.

“It would probably be best if you stopped accusing me of fraternization with the enemy, and just accepted that my logic is the only logic that matters,” Tony replied. “Believe me, the history and mythology books all say that if we don’t invite Loki to the party, it’s going to be highly embarrassing for all involved. And if there’s one thing I hate, it’s being embarrassed.”

“Will you be embarrassed when he arrives and kills you and all of your guests?” Fury asked, although he seemed resigned.

“No more than if he’d showed up uninvited and done the same,” Tony decided.

\--

Loki looked at the pile of mail on his counter.

After a frustrating week -- or perhaps it had been a month - of trying to navigate through the labyrinth of error and incompetence that formed the US postal service, he’d finally given up and cast a rather basic spell to ensure all items intended for him would find their way to him.

The envelope on top of the pile was addressed to _Loki Silvertongue, Trickster, God of Mischief and Chaos._ There was no address, no stamp, no return address.

Inside was an invitation to the Annual Stark New Year’s Bash;

  
__  


  
_Tony Stark  
requests the pleasure of your company at his  
Tenth Annual New Year’s Bash_   


  
_Saturday, the thirty-first of December  
two thousand seventeen  
from nine o’clock to midnight  
Avengers’ Mansion_   


  
_Black tie_   


\--

Loki was -

Horrified.

Confused.

Angry.

Baffled.

Unsettled.

Disconcerted.

There was absolutely no reason for -- there was no precedent for -- they were enemies, to say the least. Loki has attempted to destroy the man’s entire planet on seven different occasions, had nearly succeeded in enslaving said planet no less than three times, and had once even kidnapped the Iron Man and moved into his mansion, posing as Stark in his absence.

And yet the invitation lay there, on top of the pile. Mocking him.

Loki hissed at it, waving a hand and setting the invitation aflame.

He would not be attending this -- event, Loki decided. It was a trap -- it had to be, for there was no other reason that they would extend this invitation to him. Go to the Avengers Mansion for a party?

They must think him mad.

Loki seethed.

\--

“In my defense, I _did_ tell you.” Tony said, smirking.

The SHIELD agents were unperturbed.

“He’s not going to come,” Tony said.

\--

The next time it was a Charity Gala.

Eyes wide with disbelief, Loki stared at the invitation, this time on his kitchen table. It was propped up against the vase of fresh-cut flowers in the center, directly where he would be forced to stare at it if he attempted to eat his pancakes in peace.

He looked at the plate of still-warm pancakes, dripping with butter and real maple syrup, and then at the invitation that mocked him silently.

  


__  


  


_Tony Stark  
on behalf of Stark Industries, Inc.  
cordially invites you to his  
Annual Wine Tasting & Silent Auction_  


  


_Tuesday, the sixth of February  
two thousand eighteen  
hors d’oeuvres and wine tasting at 7 pm  
silent auction and dancing at 8 pm_  


  


_Plaza Hotel – Starlight Patio  
5th Avenue at 59th Street  
New York , New York_  


  


_Proceeds to benefit the Make-A-Wish Foundation.  
_  


Loki slammed the plate down on the table, threw the invitation at the garbage can -- a clever spell that he’d created himself ensured that the garbage continuously emptied into a trans-dimensional space, feeding the pseudo-demons that lived there -- and glared at his pancakes.

It was a trap, he reminded himself. No human - especially one as renowned and heroic as Stark - would genuinely make overtures of friendship towards Loki Liesmith.

The pancakes looked much less delicious now than when he’d followed the spell-caster’s instructions to create the breakfast delicacies. Loki frowned, cut into one, and carefully brought his fork to his mouth.

What was Stark _thinking_?

\--

Then it was a Valentine’s Day Ball and Charity Auction, proceeds to go to a women’s shelter, which Loki definitely did not consider attending before he reduced the invitation to ash and scattered its remnants in the crevices between the nine realms.

(It wasn’t that he felt bad about it, it’s just that he had all this extra money from the New York Stock Exchange, and so he indulged a whim and gave a few hundred thousand dollars to the women’s shelter. In nickels, dimes, and pennies. Because he was still _Loki._ )

\--

In March, Loki received three invitations: one to an evening dinner party thrown in honour of the Lady Sif, who was visiting from Asgard; one to attend a Drunken Night of Revelry to celebrate the Midgardian Holiday of Saint Patrick; and one birthday party for the Black Widow.

Loki was baffled, to say the least, because obviously he had no intention of showing his face at any of Stark’s ridiculously insipid parties, and yet the invitations always arrived like clockwork. If he had wished, he could have turned on a television device and seen the official announcement of Stark’s events, likely the same day he received his invitation.

It was ...

Confusing.

He threw the invitations in the trash.

\--

Loki looked up this celebration of “Easter” in a book while he eyed Stark’s latest invitation. It sounded barbaric and not at all like something that children should be exposed to, which explained why Stark seemed so excited to celebrate it.

He surveyed the invitation carefully.

  
_You and a guest are cordially invited  
to attend our first annual  
Easter Egg Hunt and Celebratory Barbeque,_  


  
_hosted by Stark Industries_  


  
_Sunday, April 1st, 2018  
at 2 p.m.  
In Central Park_  


  
_There will be plenty of hot dogs, hamburgers, veggies, and refreshments!  
Vegetarian selections will also be provided._  


  
__  


Clearly, Stark had some sort of dastardly convoluted plan that Loki had not yet been able to unravel. There was no reason for him to be sending these invitations, not when he knew there was no chance that Loki would actually want to attend his unimaginative and confusing Midgardian celebrations.

\--

  
_Take a lot of margarita,  
add a little salt and lime.  
It’s a Cinco de Mayo celebration, and it’s bound to be a good time!_  


  
_Saturday, May 2nd  
7:00 p.m until the tequila runs out  
Stark Tower_  


  
_Bring your family and enjoy a live Mariachi Band,  
Salsa contest, and much more! _  


\--

Loki studied the wording on the invitation, but it did not change at all. It was still there. _Bring your family_ , his _family_. It was -- terrible, hurtful, and obscene. This was unforgiveable.

Stark was taunting him, Loki realized furiously. He knew that Loki wouldn’t attend his gatherings, and so he had encrypted his invitations with subtle digs and jibes. This was an insult, a cruel taunt.

So Stark thought that Loki was alone in the universe, then. He thought that Loki had no family save the bumbling moron that called itself his brother? He thought that Loki would be forced to endure these insults in silence?

Well, no more. No, Loki would NOT bear to be mocked. Not about this.

\--

“Well,” Steve said cheerfully, standing at the entrance to Stark Tower. “Looks like our luck has run out.”

“What are you talking about?” Tony asked absently, trying to flag down a waiter to bring him some scotch.

“Loki’s here,” Steve told him, still sounding cheerful. Tony turned to look at him, but the smile on Steve’s face was the frozen parody of true cheer that had previously only been seen on old film reels.

Tony turned around again, and sure enough, Loki was walking up the steps at the base of the tower, dressed in a stunning black tuxedo. He did not look happy.

The little girl with him, however, looked ecstatic. She is wearing a bright purple dress with a ridiculous amount of petticoats and the shiniest shoes outside of Oz.

“Oh god,” Tony said, frantically waving at a waiter. “I don’t have nearly enough scotch to deal with this right now. Steve -- Steve, I need you to get the little girl away from him just in case things get ugly. You’re good with kids, right?”

Steve’s expression would be best described as _hatred and disbelief_.

“I’m going in,” Clint muttered, shouldering his way past them.

Loki paused on the stairs, the little girl’s hand firmly clasped in his. “Agent Barton,” he said coldly. “How good of you to greet us.”

Clint nodded. “Loki.”

“I was invited,” Loki added, making no move to walk past him.

“And you’re welcome to stay,” Clint agreed, “So long as you ensure that you won’t intentionally put any of our guests in danger.”

“What?” Natasha said, appearing behind him. “No, he is not welcome to--” She stopped speaking abruptly, then walked away.

“I see,” Loki smiled. “I make no promises, Agent Barton, but I can guarantee that your guests will be in a lot more danger if I am turned away.”

“Yup,” Tony muttered to his newly-acquired glass of scotch. “This was such a bad idea.”

\--


	2. Chapter 2

Loki had dressed himself impeccably in the Midgardian fashion, in black from head to toe.

Black, because it was Hela’s second-favourite colour (Loki did NOT look good in purple), and also because it made him look untouchable and cold. He gripped Hela’s hand tightly, partly to reassure himself that she was still by his side -- this was a trap, it was most definitely a trap, he knew this -- and partly because he needed the reassurance.

Hela, of course, was merely excited to be attending a party. She had demanded a new dress for the occasion, as well as new shoes, as well as a thousand new petticoats made of spider-silk harvested from Yggdrasil's roots, and then had begged and pleaded until he’d agreed to teach her a glamour spell for the evening. Loki, naturally, had capitulated the instant her lower lip had wobbled and he’d seen the hint of tears in her eye.

She was holding it steady, both eyes sparkling as she looked around her.

Agent Barton stood in front of them, expressionless. “Come on in,” he said, allowing his gaze to drop to the girl at Loki’s side.

Loki tightened his grip.

“What’s your name?” Agent Barton asked, dropping to one knee and gracing Hela with a smile.

Hela, who had always been an excitable, outgoing child, stepped back. She clutched at Loki’s hand, ducking her head and trying to hide behind his leg -- behaviour that Loki had never seen before.

Loki lifted his chin, raised a hand, and pushed the agent out of the way. “She is my daughter, Hela,” he announced imperiously, knowing that the other Avengers were no doubt listening in. “Should any harm come to her while under your roof, know that I shall have this city and its inhabitants as kindling for her funeral pyre.” He steps forward, pulling Hela with him.

“Papa,” Hela said very quietly. “Papa-- who was that man?”

“That was Agent Barton,” Loki explained. “He is -- well, he is one of the Avengers. Do you remember when Daddy invaded the Earth with a Chitauri Army? Agent Barton was the one whose mind I stole and who helped me destroy the flying Fortress.”

“Oh,” Hela says, her blue eyes going very, very wide. “You mean, he’s Hawkeye? The one with the bow and arrow who shoots things and makes them explode and who is the best sharpshooter in the universe? That one? That was _him?_ ” and now she’s straining to turn around, twisting to try and get a good look at the stunned, confused agent behind them on the stairs.

“I’ll introduce you later,” Loki lied, because he was now certain that this was a trap. There was no reason for the Avengers to welcome him into their headquarters, no reason to follow Stark’s example. It’s good that he came prepared, good that he had ensured Hela would be safe. “Do you remember the teleportation spell that will take you away if Daddy has to destroy the city?”

“Yes,” Hela said, frowning. “But Papa, I don’t want to go away! I want to stay and have fun at the party. Do you think there will be other children there? Do you think they will like my dress?”

Loki felt like a terrible father. “I’m sure everyone will love your dress,” he answers honestly, because it is a beautiful dress, and Hela looks beautiful in it. “There are other children around,” he adds, seeing a few little girls in equally fancy dresses with their own parents. “Perhaps we shall meet them later, and you will have a chance to make friends.”

Hela’s whole face lights up, like it had when Loki had told her he wanted to take her to a party on Midgard. It makes Loki’s heart seize in his chest, to see the way his daughter is so desperate for fun and excitement. Living among the dead is no place for a child, he thought as he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

Tony Stark approached them, coming from the side, not quite sneaky but not quite open either. Loki eyed him warily as the billionaire stopped in front of them, holding two glasses filled with amber liquid.

“Loki!” he said cheerfully. “Glad you could make it! It’s about time that you came to one of my shindigs, isn’t it? Gotta warn you, though, there are a lot of people who won’t be happy to see you. Like, uh, all of SHIELD. And the Director. And most of the Avengers. And most of the guests, for that matter, but that’s not personal, that’s more of a you-trying-to-subjugate-their-species-and-also-wrecking-the-local-Starkbucks-so-no-coffee-for-like-a-whole-month hatred. How’s villainy treating you?” He put a glass in Loki’s hand in lieu of shaking it, and then smiled.

One of Loki’s hands was preventing Hela from throwing herself at Agent Barton, the other held a glass of what smelled like alcohol, so he didn’t have a free hand to throttle the Iron Man. However, there was always the possibility of shapeshifting into a being that had more than two available limbs. “Quite well,” Loki said, because unlike some others, he was raised to behave like a prince in all social situations. “Thank you. Stark, this is my daughter, Hela. Hela, say hello to Mr. Stark.”

Hela stopped her struggles.to look up at the human in front of her. Her eyes got very, very wide. “Tony Stark?” she whispered. “You’re Mr. Tony Stark, the Iron Man?”

\--

Tony preened. “You bet I am,” he said, because kids freaking LOVED Ironman. Even alien kids who were related to superpowered crazypants villains. “It’s nice to meet you, Hela.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too, Mr. Iron Man sir.” Hela replied, blushing. She was a cute kid, all pale skin and dark curly hair that was piled on top of her head in a messy, intricate updo. She also didn’t look much more than five, although it was possible that she was older and the princess dress, sparkly shoes, and the besotted look she was giving Tony just made her look a little younger.

Hela dug into a hidden pocket in her dress, coming up with an equally purple and sparkly notebook. “Mr. Iron Man, can I have your autograph?” she asked, cheeks flushed.

“Sure thing, Kiddo,” Tony agreed, because signing autographs for kids was something his PR guy had insisted he always do. Even if it made him late to board meetings. (Tony liked the new PR guy.) He snapped his fingers and held out his hand, and one of the peons ran up to give him a marker in an appropriately gaudy shade of purple. “So, you’re a big fan, huh?” He smirked at Loki.

“I’m a super-big fan!” Hela breathed, ecstatic. “Iron Man is so cool.”

“Thanks, sweetheart,” Tony said with a grin.

“I saw your convoy get blowed up on the TV!” Hela said enthusiastically. “There was a big explosion. Eleven people died! It was so cool. And the newspapers call you the Merchant of Death, did you know that? They stopped calling you that when you started being Iron Man, but I think Merchant of Death is even cooler.”

Tony paused with the marker cap between his teeth. The page on the sparkly princess notebook said: **_To Hela, hope your dad doesn’t kill us all, love, Tony Stark (Iron Man)._**

“What?” Tony said.

“Can you sign it as the Merchant of Death too?”

Loki smirked.

Tony glared at him.

\--

Meeting Natasha, Hela looked up at her and with an expression of awe, asked, “Is it true you were only eleven when you killed your first person?”

Natasha blinked. “I was thirteen.”

“I was seven,” Hela informed her with a sunny smile. “Did you know that the females of the genus Latrodectus practice sexual cannibalism, which is why they are called Widow Spiders? Do you practice sexual cannibalism, Miss Black Widow?”

\--

“Hi,” Hela said to Steve, and then she spotted Hawkeye and ran off.

“Disappointed?” Tony asked, handing him a glass of scotch.

“Not really,” Steve said with a shrug. “I’m not great with kids.”

“Beleive me, Wednesday Addams over there would probably like you better if you set her on fire or told her all about how many people you’d shot during the war,” Tony replied with a scowl. “Freaky, unsettling, and disturbing don’t even begin to cover it. She’s definitely Loki’s kid.”

“Yeah,” Steve shrugged. “Still, not great with kids. I’m happy so long as she thinks Captain America is boring and doesn’t want to talk to me.”

\--

But Hela did want to talk to him.

“Will you sign my Avengers picture?” She asked politely, holding out a picture and a sharpie.

The picture showed all six of them facing off against Loki, who was standing on top of a fallen building and throwing his head back with laughter. In the picture, Steve had a head wound and was bleeding profusely, blood running down the side of his face.

“Please, Mr. Sir Captain America?” Hela pleaded.

“Um,” Steve said, but he held his hand out for the marker.

\--

Loki had finally relaxed a little bit, allowing Hela to leave his side for short distances, indulging in a frozen mixed drink that involved lots of tequila and lime, and which tasted pleasant in a way that most alcoholic beverages didn’t. It was likely that when they sprung their trap, they would ensure that Hela was not caught in their net as well -- and so long as he kept a bit of distance between them, it was more likely that Hela could teleport herself to safety should the need arise.

Until then, he was determined to let Hela enjoy her first party.

“Loki,” the Black Widow approached him, hips swinging seductively as she walked. She was wearing a short black dress with a red sash that tied behind her, and her hair was delicately curled and pinned up. “So lovely to see you.”

“Lies don’t suit you, my Lady,” Loki responded.

“Lovely to see you not murdering innocent people,” she amended. “Is your intention to change that?”

“Not without reason,” Loki says coldly.

“Mm,” she hummed noncommittally, and then leaned forward, placing a hand on his elbow. “A warning, then, from one person who desires peace to another who desires something else.”

“Speak your piece.”

“Thor is late to the party,” Natasha Romanoff whispered. “But he is going to be here.”

Loki scowled.

“If you don’t want to see him, perhaps you should leave.”

Turning, Loki spotted Hela at the far end of the room. She’d befriended another girl, wearing a yellow dress and a ridiculous red hat, and they were sitting on chairs and playing a clapping game, giggling madly and swinging their legs. She looked so happy.

Thunder rumbled in the distance.

“Better choose fast,” the Black Widow warned quietly, before turning around and walking away, sashaying attractively as she went.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This is Natasha's dress](http://www.thefashionpolice.net/2008/09/short-black-dress-by-jovani.html)
> 
> , for those of you who care about that sort of thing. 
> 
> Um, Hela is the queen of the underworld, goddess of the dead, etc. Literally all of her interactions with non-family members have revolved around death and dying, so her comments are NOT meant to be disturbing, she's just. Kind of odd. Unsettling the Avengers is just a side bonus.
> 
> And yes, Hela thinks that Captain America is kind of boring. This is NO WAY reflects my own opinion. Steve is awesome.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on [Tumblr!](http://epiphanyx7.tumblr.com/) Or, if you need a dose of the fluffy and joyous things in world, try following my fluffy side blog: [Fluffpocalypse.](http://fluffpocalypse.tumblr.com/)


End file.
